


Symphony of the Golden Years

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Fluffy McFluffFluff, season 11 baby fic. Sorry, folks.





	Symphony of the Golden Years

She brushed the dirt off her knees and groaned as her back creaked. If there was anything surprising about getting older, it was the noises. She didn’t remember learning that in med school. Mulder called it the symphony of the golden years. It sounded so romantic, put like that, and spoken in his gravelled voice that had only got sexier with age. But he would always manage to fart at orchestral levels as he said it. 

 

These days, her neck popped, the muscles there gristling and scraping together like tectonic plates, her shoulders cracked, her ankles clicked, her stomach gurgled before and after meals. Luckily, with almost half of all people over 65 suffering hearing loss, at least one of their lives should become inordinately quieter in the next decade. 

 

‘Hopefully,’ she whispered to herself, as she crunched her knees straight. Poor Esther, she thought. What a life she was going to have. Ageing parents. Ageing spooky parents. She’d already heard parents at the playgroup asking if she was the mother or the grandmother. Would she be sporting the Rock it Like a Red Head look at the age of 65? Would Mulder still wear alien socks? Would Esther invite them to ‘Bring your parents to school days’ or would she be too embarrassed? 

 

“What do you do for a job Mr Mulder?”

 

“I’m a writer.”

 

“Anything we’d know?”

 

“I have a novel coming out soon. ‘Okobogee’. A psychological thriller about a woman receiving psychic messages from a…”

 

“Thank you, and you Mrs Mulder?”

 

“Dr Scully,” she would say. “I was a forensic pathologist with the FBI.”

 

For elementary school kids, it was just as much of a conversation killer as Mulder’s writing genre.

 

Poor Esther. 

 

Scully sighed, the breath rasping noisily over her vocal cords. She held up the bunches of young carrots, vibrant orange and green, and inhaled their earthy scent. On her way back to the house, she relished the strengthening sun on her face and stopped a second to admire the late blossom on the weeping apricot, cascading like a cerise fountain. 

 

Forced retirement did have some benefits. Mulder was a patient cultivator, finding genuine joy in permaculture and gardening by night; and she’d found a welcome peace in the rhythms and fruits of his toil. He wrote late into the night, then pottered under the stars. She’d often sat by the window, feeding their miracle child, as she watched his shadowy figure in the yard, lit only by the miracles of the Milky Way. She’d also discovered a latent talent for growing Bonsai – the first tree was a gift from Skinner. Her dexterous capacity for snipping and clipping now put to more nurturing use.

 

Her skin warmed as she opened the back door and drank in the aromas of living. The house felt so much more like a home now, filled with the paraphernalia of family. Stacked on the counters, table and windowsill were baby bottles, a Peter Rabbit bowl and spoon set smeared with the remains of pumpkin and rice puree, two coffee mugs bearing the slogan The FBI’s Most Unwanted under a photo of the pair of them circa 1994, which Skinner thought was a hilarious wedding present, Bonsai trees in various stages of training, two of Mulder’s watches which he claimed lost nine minutes the last he went Squatchin in that ridiculous suit but also bore the telltale bubbles of water submersion, a pair of binoculars, newspaper clippings and a Valentine’s card that had been mysteriously left on the steps to the house and read ‘You are still my touchstone’ but elicited a denial from Mulder that would have made the head of the Bureau proud. He had steadfastly refused to allow her to recycle it, claiming it was evidence…of what, other than his silver fox sappiness, she didn’t quite know.

 

Yes, she thought, Esther would be a moon child, a daddy’s girl, a Squatcher, a nature lover, a cryptid geek. And as she looked at the photos in the rustic frame on the wall, showing a slow progression from scrunched up newborn to the wide-eyed wonder of a six-month old, Esther Scully-Mulder would be a redhead.

 

She toed off her boots and left the harvest in the kitchen sink. She heard the first squeal and her nipples tightened on reflex. It was quickly followed by a kind of strangled noise. Her second response was to touch her hip – but these days there was no weapon. Then a second squeal, longer and more gurgly, and a low wheeze. Punctuated by a small silence during which she crept closer to the living room. More squeals and a chuckle, a gathering of breath, and a howl of baby laughter.

 

She found Mulder hunched on his knees in front of Esther’s activity jumper, where she was sitting in the chair, chubby cheeks red with delight. His face was hidden behind his hands. On her head, Esther wore one of her older toys. A pale green terry cloth teether in the shape of a rabbit with oversized red gingham ears. It sat like a halo on her fine auburn hair and when Mulder revealed his face with a sing-song ‘what’s the time, Mr Fox?’ Esther laughed so hard that the rabbit slipped off and landed with a jingle on the plastic tray in front of her. Her giggles set Mulder off and he laughed like she hadn’t seen him before. Tears streamed down his face and he had trouble catching his breath between repetitions.

 

By the third ‘what’s the time, Mr Fox?’ she felt her own shoulders wobble as a laugh bubbled up from her diaphragm. Esther’s little head shook and her mouth opened wide with anticipation as Mulder positioned the rabbit once more. 

 

The unbridled joy of a baby’s chuckle was a sound so universally loved that Scully found herself crying and laughing, overwhelmed at the sight of Mulder and their daughter sharing this tender moment. She knelt next to Mulder, knees groaning again. But she didn’t care. This time, she picked up the rabbit and put it on Esther’s head. The baby grinned at her, strings of drool glistening on her lips and chin. Her little hands reached out and Scully dipped to kiss her fat knuckles. She covered her face in her hands. Mulder’s arm slipped around her waist. She leaned in to his solid body.

 

“What’s the time…” She didn’t know what to say. 

 

She felt Mulder’s bristly jaw turn towards her, an exhalation, a gentle kiss against her cheek. A rush of golden memories. “Doctor 1 in 5 billion.”

 

Esther burst into a peal of throaty giggles but Mulder didn’t laugh this time. He turned to Scully and with a crooked smile, whispered, “shouldn’t that be 1 in 7 billion, doc?”

 

Tears tracked down her face and fell into her open mouth. Esther fell quiet and the only sound was their kissing. Another noise to add to the symphony of the golden years.


End file.
